"Nei da," she said brightly, "but as long as we don't really eat them, it doesn't matter, does it?"
"It is supposed not to matter," answered Knutty, moving off to comfort old Kari, who was not only mourning for the young black ox, but also continuing to feel personally aggrieved over her disappointment about Clifford's ghost.
"Ak, ak, the young black ox!" cried Kari, when she saw her Danish friend. "Eat him? Not I, dear Fröken, I was fond of him. Ak, ak!"
"Be comforted, Kari," said Knutty soothingly. "You loved him and were good to him and didn't eat him up. What more do you want?"
"Will you tell me whether he tasted good?" asked Kari softly. "I should like to know that he was a success."
"He was delicious," said Knutty, "and I heard the Praest and the doctor speaking in praise of him. Of course they must know."
Kari nodded as if reassured, and disappeared into the cowhouse, Tante's concert-room, wiping her moist eyes with her horny hands. She came back again, and stood for a moment in the doorway.
"I cannot believe that it was not the Englishman's ghost," she said, shaking her head mysteriously. "I felt it was a ghost. I trembled all over, and my knees gave way."
"But you surely believe now that my Englishman is alive, don't you, Kari?" asked Tante, who was much amused.
"I cannot be sure," replied Kari, and she disappeared again; but Tante, knowing that she always carried on a conversation in this weird manner, waited for her sudden return.